Resolution
by ancslove
Summary: Post-barricade AU. A new Republic is forming, the Amis are finding their paths, and personal needs may now come to the fore.


Eighteen months. Eighteen months since the barricades, since the people rising up to claim what was theirs, since the surrender of the National Guard. Since the rebirth, at least metaphorically, of a new Republic in France. Progress was slow, and just beginning to be felt by the people. Combeferre knew that was always the way, the statistics trumpeted Progress before the people fully recognized it. But it was a start, and hope still burned brightly in leaders and citizens. And so Combeferre felt that he could turn his attention to a different problem. A more personal need.

The revolutionary schoolboys were slowly turning into adult Republicans. Upon Enjolras' suggestion, the law students had completed their coursework. Courfeyrac and Lesgles had passed the bar, and were in the process of opening their own practice. Pontmercy, having passed his bar sometime before the barricades, already had his own legal office funded by his grandfather. Joly worked as a hospital intern, and Combeferre himself had snagged a fairly modest but deeply satisfying position as an assistant for the new Committee of Public Education. He was the only Ami to officially join the government. Enjolras had surprised everyone by foregoing either a legal or government path, opting instead to write. He freelanced for several Republican newspapers, unwilling to tie himself down too tightly, and his peculiar brand of soaring, relentless logic had won him a devoted following. Grantaire, newly committed to sobriety and ever adoring, illustrated his articles. The Amis were navigating the transition to adult responsibility very well, in Combeferre's estimation, but one youthful problem had only exacerbated with the change. And so Combeferre found himself knocking on Enjolras' door.

Entering on Enjolras' admittance, Combeferre glanced around and couldn't help a slight frown. The place was slightly larger than Enjolras' old apartment, and as ever filled with stacks of books and newspapers. The fireplace smoldered dully, its death throes unable to combat the icy breeze from the opened window. Enjolras, seated at his desk and buried in papers, waved Combeferre over with a quick jerk of his head.

"Have a seat. Just let me finish this sentence. What brings you here?"

Finally, the blond looked up, a quick smile lighting his face. Shadows smudged around his eyes, making the irises seem even brighter. His cheekbones stood out much too sharply for Combeferre's liking, and the opened neckline of his shirt exposed an equally visible collarbone. Any misgivings that Combeferre had about ambushing his best friend disappeared.

"Enjolras, do you have a moment? I need to talk with you."

"Anything for you."

Combeferre took a breath and gathered his thoughts. There was no need to ease into the topic, not with Enjolras. Enjolras always employed directness with both friends and foes, and valued directness in return. "I'm concerned about your health. You can't keep living this way."

Enjolras leaned forward, but did not interrupt. Heartened by his silent attention, Combeferre pressed on. "As your friend, your well-being is always my concern. But as your _doctor_, your health is my responsibility." Officially, Combeferre was still able to practice medicine, but Enjolras was his only current patient.

Enjolras reached out a hand to grasp Combeferre's wrist in comfort. "I know, and you haven't neglected that. My health is fine, and you have no cause to worry, I assure you."

"I do worry. You can't continue like this. In the old days, before the barricade, you at least had something of a routine. You had friends to drag you to lunch after or between classes. You had Musain meetings in the evenings that sometimes compelled you to dine. You had me living with you, to catch when you'd gone too long without rest or sustenance. And, since fighting could happen a moment's notice, you had a firm reason to keep your body as prepared and focused as your mind. Now, there's none of that. You work longer and more erratic hours than you ever did then, a feat that I once wouldn't have believed possible. Others have noticed, too. Joly. Grantaire."

"I'm listening, although I don't quite agree with all of your points. But you didn't come here just to scold me. What do you have in mind?"

Combeferre smiled, relief easing the tight muscles of his shoulders. Enjolras could be stubborn, but he was rarely reckless and never brushed him off without thought. "I want to get you back on a schedule of sorts. I know you won't permit anything too regimented, but routine or set goals can be helpful."

"I can't promise to stick to a set routine. My work covers everything from committee meetings to events that spring up in daily life throughout the city and beyond, the only set hours I can keep are my article deadlines." Enjolras' brows were knitted together as his mind raced to find a solution that would not upend his lifestyle but would make Combeferre happy.

"I understand that, and we can experiment with a few ideas. You aren't, after all, in danger of dropping dead any time soon. That's why I'm talking with you now. With your permission and cooperation, we can create a plan." A small smile pulled at his mouth. "You like plans. Consider this a New Year's resolution."

Enjolras favored him with an answering smile and a resolute nod. "Usually. And I will commit to this one, once it is born. Thank you, my friend."

On impulse, Combeferre reached forward and pulled him into a tight embrace, whispering, "Thank _you_. I want only what is best for you. And, I want to keep you with me, healthy and happy, for a long, long time."


End file.
